


Best Laid Plans

by DayGlowOrange



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Descriptions of Blood and Gore, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Pregnancy Test, pregnancy announcement, pregnancy symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25393963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayGlowOrange/pseuds/DayGlowOrange
Summary: After everything Gil has done for Malcolm throughout their lives together, and everything they've worked for, Malcolm wants to make sure this moment is special, one that Gil will never forget.  Too bad life has a habit of laughing in Malcolm's face.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49
Collections: PSon Goblin Swap Summer 2020!





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalsanyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/gifts).



One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

He should have brought his phone.

Eight Mississippi. Nine Mississippi.

A watch.

A timer.

Twelve Mississippi. Thirteen Mississippi.

He had been too anxious to think that clearly. It's been months since Malcolm had finally offered that he was ready for this. As ready as he could ever be given, well, everything.

Twenty-two Mississippi.

Gil had never pushed, never coerced, or tried to convince or guilt him. He had simply stated it was something he wanted with Malcolm, only if Malcolm was one hundred percent on board too. Otherwise, he’d made it perfectly clear he was content to spend the rest of their lives with just the two of them.

Thirty-six. Thirty-seven Mississippi.

‘Months’ may be an understatement - over a year is far more accurate. At first, he took it easy or tried to tell himself that is what he’d been doing anyway. He knew it would take a few tries - after letting his body figure itself out after being on Omega suppressants and birth control for twenty plus years it was never going to happen right away.

Fifty-one Mississippi. Fifty-two…

He lost count of ovulation test kits and HCG tests months ago. Peeing on a stick has just kind of become a thing he does. Apologizing for being broken, being another.

No matter how much Gil assured him of his love, that there was no blame to be had or apologies to be made, Malcolm knew it was yet another thing in his life that couldn’t just…  _ be good.  _ And surely he could have done something to fix it sooner?

Fifty-seven Mississippi.

This time, he’d waited.

He had thrown out the testing kits, ignored the thermometer and the calendar, and just focused on loving his husband. On what they have - on what they’ve fought tooth and nail to build together.

It has been two weeks since Malcolm  _ could  _ have first tested and the symptoms have become too much to ignore.

_ Sixty. _

Malcolm snatches the test from where it’s laying face down on the bathroom counter, flips it up, and promptly plops himself down on the edge of his garden tub.

They did it.

He’s not completely broken.

He’s  _ pregnant.  _

Malcolm starts to cry.

They’re silent tears, but thick, fat drops slide down as his cheek. It takes him a moment to squash his initial urge to tell Gil right this very second. Not only is Gil already on his way to work, they’ve been waiting for the moment so long Malcolm knows it needs to be perfect. Gil is a romantic inside and out, always making date nights personal and special, had the perfect proposal, and was the one to put his foot down with Jessica when it came to their wedding planning. While Malcolm would have ultimately been fine with a courthouse elopement - he’d still wanted  _ something.  _ And true to form, Gil had made sure it was quiet and intimate - perfect.

Now, it’s Malcolm’s turn.

***

An hour later, Gil calls him into a crime scene. 

By the time he gets there, Malcolm has had several dozen ideas, nixed  _ most  _ of them as just not quite right, and is only half paying attention to the outside world as he ruminates on three different ideas that weren’t tossed immediately but still aren’t nearly perfect enough. 

As much as he wants to do something extravagant, he’d learned early on in their relationship that while Gil would never turn his nose up or under-appreciate something Malcolm spends way too much money on, he prefers the quiet, little things.  _ Thoughtful  _ has always been the keyword. Lowkey. They both like lowkey. So food from his favorite place is a must. Need to do it at home. A card is too impersonal, but a small gift? A new mug for his desk at work? Something subtle of course, that doesn’t come right out and say it.

“Earth to Malcolm. Hey, man, you in there?”

Malcolm snaps out of his train of thought to find JT waving a hand right in front of his face while smirking. They’re waiting at an elevator to go up to the penthouse of a massive high rise, and it’s obvious JT has been trying to get his attention for a bit. He just hopes that his friend hasn’t been going over details of the case yet. He  _ usually  _ saves that for when they’re all together so he doesn’t have to repeat himself. 

“What?” Malcolm blinks and shakes his head. “Oh, sorry, JT. Yeah, it’s just… had a long night.” He tries to shrug it off, to hide his smile quickly so JT doesn’t get any ideas to keep asking questions. It’s not something his friend is wont to do, but there are always exceptions when Malcolm gives him enough reason.

Thankfully, JT chuckles and waves him off. “I  _ really _ don’t need to hear about it. Especially the kind of long night that would leave that dopey look on your face.”

Malcolm’s jaw drops, affronted at first but snaps his mouth shut in an attempt to shrug it all off. “I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.”

But there’s something in JT’s look, a knowing glint in his gaze that tells JT that the detective knows and sees way more than he’s about to admit to.

“Whatever you say, man.”

Thankfully, the elevator doors slide open before either of them has to say anything else and they board in silence. They also ride in silence. 

Malcolm just wishes it was a comfortable silence. 

It’s not his friend that makes it uncomfortable, though. All JT is doing is standing there in his usual stoic stance, quiet due to not having anything important to say rather than a desire not to talk to Malcolm. They have a lot of those moments together now that they’ve become so close.

No, it’s the  _ elevator  _ that makes Malcolm uncomfortable.

For a lift in such a luxurious building, Malcolm finds he can feel every jolt and shift unlike ever before and it makes his head swim and his stomach churn. 

The higher they get, the worse it becomes.

By the time they step out onto the 81st floor, Malcolm has to breathe deeply to keep himself from giving away his internal distress. 

“Janice Williams. Fifty-three, former trust fund kid turned professional philanthropist, and three-time trophy-wife.” JT is talking before Malcolm’s brain has completely caught up with his surroundings, but he swallows and closes his eyes, desperately trying to ignore the way he can feel the subtle sway of the building beneath his feet. He’s on auto-pilot and hadn’t even realized JT brought him into the crime scene or that Dani had joined them a moment later. 

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Dani’s brows are drawn together in judgment of JT’s choice of words but JT gestures towards the wall that’s lined in bookshelves on the other side of the living room. 

“While normally I wouldn’t apologize for calling it like I see it, the woman literally wrote an autobiography called ‘Confessions of a three-time trophy wife.’”

“I’m assuming it was a tell-all?” She asks, stepping past both JT and Malcolm to get her own close look at the extensive book collection. 

Gil steps out of one of the doors on the far end of the room and for a moment, Malcolm’s entire body actually settles. His husband’s presence has  _ always  _ helped soothe whatever was going on with Malcolm at the time, and this is no different. They share a small, private smile for the most fleeting of moments before they’re both back to long practiced, perfectly professional decorum. 

If anyone takes issue with the fact that they still stand probably a little  _ too  _ close together, they don’t ever say anything.

“Tell-all may be an understatement,” Gil explains as he gestures the three of them over. “Janice aired out the filthiest dirty laundry of dozens of wealthy New York elite in plain black and white to be sold for twenty bucks a pop. The release party was last night. Last time anyone saw her was when her business manager left around four am after seeing all the party staff out. Cleaning crew came in a few hours later and found her.” 

Malcolm nods, no matter what he finds in the next room, everyone mentioned in her book is going to be a suspect and their lives turned inside out to clear them. “Cause of death?” 

“Inconclusive.” Gil answers.

“My money’s on the evisceration, though.” 

JT’s words instantly make Malcolm’s stomach flip and he freezes mid-step to turn and look at the detective, his eyes wide while he tries to mentally hold himself in one piece. Of course, Malcolm would usually have some kind of quip right back that’s probably just as inappropriate but today, he can’t stomach it.

Literally.

Thankfully, JT seems to pick up on that and looks apologetic.

“It’s not pretty.”

As Malcolm steps over the threshold into the master suite something in him shifts, like tectonic plates grinding against one another hard enough to bring down an entire city. 

He’s aware, logically, that he’s seen worse. He’s  _ smelled  _ worse. In all his years solving the most heinous kind of crimes, he’s seen corpses in every state of decay and murders so gruesome that even with dental work it was difficult to identify bodies. 

This doesn’t even rate on his scale of ‘bad’. 

But his stomach violently disagrees. 

He manages to swallow down the acrid taste of bile and subtly covers his nose with his hand, and it’s not enough but he’s pushed through worse.

“I’d say someone was mad she’d spilled her guts…” JT offers quietly, though it’s clear he’s already dismissed the idea just as Malcolm has.

“It’s a little too on the nose, too obvious,” Malcolm agrees with what JT hadn’t actually said out loud and swallows again. He’s never had a crime scene affect him like this and he’s not about to let it start now. But the subtle glance he catches Gil giving him from the corner of his eye tells Malcolm he’s not really hiding anything and he wonders what he looks like, if his skin is as pale or cheeks as flushed as he feels. More importantly, is he swaying as much as his inner ear is telling him he is? “If we’re talking the level of wealthy elite I think we’re uh…” Malcolm pauses and clears his throat, swallowing down more bile. “I think we are talking about then the vast majority of them would have just hired someone to take her out. And if one of them attacked her themselves I would expect to see more of a struggle, more of a fight. There would be signs of anger and aggression that built up to this.” 

In order to really get a good read on things, Malcolm needs to get closer. But for the first time in his life, he really doesn’t want to get up close and personal with this killer’s handiwork. The smell of blood and viscera is somehow more potent than he’s ever experienced, more overwhelming and thicker in the air than he’d ever thought possible. And he’s been in small, closed quarters with people who were  _ butchered.  _

“And there are no defensive wounds, either.” Malcolm hadn’t even noticed Edrisa crouched over the body, her gloved hands deftly poking through the mess. It should be enough of a warning to him that he shouldn’t be here, that he’s not going to be able to handle this. He’s missing a lot of not very little things and he knows he’s not going to be of any help any time soon. She looks up, eyes bright and expectant for a beat before she frowns the moment she catches sight of Malcolm. 

“Are you okay, Bright?”

He tries to wave her off. “Of course.”  _ Focus _ , he thinks. There’s a murder to solve, a woman is dead and his job is to take in the scene, to notice the details others might not, to interpret those details that most wouldn’t think important and see how they fill in the gaps. No defensive wounds. She could have been sleeping when she was attacked.

“What about the cut to her…” he starts to force himself to move forward but stops when Edrisa puts what is in her gloved hands back where it originally was. Well, he assumed it’s where it had been laying.

He doesn’t exactly  _ watch.  _

Surprisingly, it’s the  _ sound  _ that does him in - the wet squelch of blood and organs combined with the smell of death, the sway of the building, and the pressure all around his head and Malcolm starts to feel himself spin, and his words slip away uncontrolled. “..her um, her abdomen, that uh…” 

The world around him moves and upheaves his center of gravity. He hears shouts and calls for an evidence bag but they’re muffled by a roar in his ears and a twist in his stomach so painful his entire body folds in half. Someone wraps their arms around his shoulders, plastic is pressed to his lips and his body moves entirely at someone else's discretion. The lightheadedness nearly drives him under but with one final twist to his own intestines, Malcolm vomits into the bag pressed against his face. 

Time stretches and he’s guided somewhere else. Several doors open and close, the scent of blood and death becomes a background note to something more potent, something he knows and clings to even as he finishes expelling whatever was still lingering in his stomach. 

He realizes what’s going on the moment Gil’s scent hits him full-on, sliding through his senses like dipping into a deep, soothing hot pool of water. Malcolm is held tight not just by strong, familiar arms, but by his Alpha’s mere presence, soothing the overactive nerves in every inch of his body until he can breathe again, until the world stops moving and he’s caught, effortlessly, by the man he loves. 

Gil presses a bottle of water into Malcolm’s hands and tells him to drink. 

Malcolm downs half of it before coming up for air.

They’re in a different place now. A quiet corner of the emergency stairwell that runs the height of the building. 

Alone.

“There’s an EMT on the way, just keep taking deep breaths, okay?” Gil holds Malcolm by the shoulders, hands clenched tight and eyes bright with worry, watching him closely, 

And Malcolm slumps, shaking his head. He feels much more steady already, stomach empty of anything to still agitate him and head much clearer than before. The scent of death and decay is nothing more than a memory at this point. “That’s not necessary, Gil.” He sighs and tries to smile, but knows it’s a weak and pathetic thing. “I promise.”

“You just fainted and got violently ill at a scene that wasn’t even our worst one this year. Something is wrong. Don’t sit there and try and tell me it’s not.”

Fear and concern is radiating from Gil, in the way he holds himself, in the stiffness in his shoulders and the way his eyes keep darting up and down Malcolm’s body as if he could actually see what’s going on if he just looks close enough. Malcolm can’t stand to see him worry like this, can’t take the guilty pang that punches him in the gut at making him feel anything close to that. 

So he smiles, a small, private thing. “Gil, I’m fine. This will probably happen a few more times and in a couple of months it’ll be but a distant memory.”

This isn’t how this is supposed to go. This was supposed to be a private, romantic moment of celebration. Not a quickly soothed over assurance that Malcolm’s isn’t sick or dying in a cold and impersonal high rise stairwell outside a crime scene. 

“How could you possibly…” it doesn’t take Gil but half a second to catch up, and Malcolm watches his gaze go from worried, to incredulous, to open and unhidden shock in quick flashes of deeply felt emotion. His own faint smile never goes away. 

“Malcolm?” One of Gil’s hands drops from Malcolm’s shoulder to Malcolm’s chest and then hovers just over his abdomen like he’s afraid to touch, afraid to ask if this is real. “How long?”

“Just tested this morning, but I’ve been feeling the symptoms for a few weeks. I was so scared of another negative, of being  _ wrong  _ and just, stupidly hopeful again that I just kept putting it off. I didn’t want…” 

In an instant, Malcolm finds himself wrapped up tighter than before in his husband’s arms and is surprised to find he’s still shaking. He presses his face into the crook of Gil’s neck and breathes deeply, chasing down more of that thick, heady scent that he knows and loves. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” he admits, words muffled against Gil’s collar. “It was supposed to be special.”

“Malcolm… we’re having a  _ baby. _ ” Gil sighs and shakes his head before pressing a long, lingering kiss to Malcolm’s temple.  _ “ _ That’s… that’s special enough on its own, I swear. How you told me doesn’t change that.”

When he pulls back Malcolm can see the tears welling up in his husband’s eyes, though they don’t fall, and Malcolm leans in to kiss either side of his cheeks with a watery smile of his own and a nod. “We are.”

They stay there for what feels like ages, Gil pulling him in once more to simply hold him close. 

But their lives don’t stop. There is always work to be done, and Gil’s phone chimes far sooner than Malcolm’s ready for.

Gil glances at the screen but doesn’t say anything. The look on his face that he’d rather stay at Malcolm’s side than go anywhere else is loud and clear. 

The thought of going back to the crime scene makes Malcolm’s already twisted stomach protest almost violently and he shakes his head. “You go. And uh, maybe steal some more evidence bags. I have a feeling they’re going to come in handy for the next couple months.”


End file.
